Senses
by agrajagthetesty
Summary: Miraculous as his survival was, and incredible as his new body was, it did however cause unforeseen problems, ones that he never would have imagined, and that hindered him in the strangest of ways... Oneshot. Reviewers get commissions.


**Senses**

Miraculous as his survival was, and incredible as his new body was, it did however cause unforeseen problems, ones that he never would have imagined, and that hindered him in the strangest of ways.

His first task had been simple: prevent Ed from dying of the wounds caused by their transmutation. And no-one could deny that he had achieved that without problems. It didn't take five senses to carry your broken and bleeding brother across the countryside to the house of your best friend and guardian, and in fact his new body was probably more suited to the job than his old one had been. So he had succeeded.

His second job had also seemed simple. All he had to do was "get some warm water up here, Al, _now_."

"Yes, ma'am."

He dashed down into the kitchen and ran some water from the hot tap into a basin, carried it up the stairs and back into the bedroom and placed it on the floor near the bed where Ed was lying, now unconscious.

Winry rushed over, panicky, and dipped a cloth into the water. She gasped. "Al, it's freezing!"

"Is it?" he asked in surprise. He'd had no idea. He hadn't noticed any steam coming off it, of course- but then there normally wasn't any coming off the hot water in the house, and he hadn't wanted it _that_ hot anyway.

But he hadn't been able to tell.

"We must have run out of hot water," Pinako said, standing with her back to him and attempting to stem the flow of blood from Ed's tattered stump of an arm. "Boil the kettle, Winry."

Winry had run downstairs at once, following orders without hesitation, leaving him kneeling on the floor next to the useless basin of cold water, staring at his hands and wondering how he could not have noticed. He wasn't left to wonder for long, though- Pinako soon found something for him to do.

He was taking bandages, as many as he could find, out from the first aid cupboard in the corner, when Winry came stumbling in, bearing a recently boiled kettle and holding it cautiously out in front of her by the handle, which she had wrapped in a tea towel.

He leaped up and hurried over to seize the kettle from her hands. She stepped backwards in alarm, almost spilling the water, as he took it. "Careful, Al!"

He looked blankly up at her as he poured the water into the basin, not understanding what she meant.

His gauntlets were steaming from the heat of the metal.

Their shared panic receded a little once Pinako, working non-stop on the remains of Ed's limbs, announced that the bleeding had slowed. They hurried over to help, and all three of them mopped the sluggishly flowing blood away and wrapped the gaping wounds in bandages.

Winry had to secure the ends of his bandage for him.

He faced their questions and interrogations silently, head ducked low to avoid their gaze, wordlessly confirming all of their accusations. They were left speechless by his behaviour, staring at him in horror. He couldn't meet their eyes, staring at the floor in shame. He wished there was something he could have done to deny the truth of the things they said, but none of it was false.

Eventually they both went to bed, exhausted.

He remained awake all night, staring at the wall, and in the morning he wasn't tired.

---

He couldn't feel the softness of a cat's fur when he stroked it, despite retaining his gentleness and love for the animals; he couldn't taste the food he sometimes pretended to eat, even though he really wanted to tell Gracia how good her cakes were; he couldn't smell the new perfume Winry insisted she was wearing, although he wished he could please her by saying it was lovely.

But he could walk, and he could run, and he could carry Ed to safety and aid through the dark and the rain and the storm, and he could save his brother's life. So he never mourned the things he had lost that night.

---

_Author's Notes: Ten fanfics! I did it! I am now wonderfully, miraculously open to commissions. My only guidelines are that I don't want to write anything rated higher than T (unless it's an idea that I really like), slash is generally not my friend, and I don't work very well with enormous, eventful stories._

_This story is dedicated to my brother._


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